


Disregard the Rain

by KaraTutiiro



Series: These Freaks and These Soldiers [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Pepper, Bruce Feels, Families of Choice, Gen, Protective Jarvis, Protective Natasha, Protective Pepper, Protective Steve is Sort of a Given, Protective Thor, Team Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraTutiiro/pseuds/KaraTutiiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Five Times Someone Lost Their Shit Over Project Lyssa, and One Time Someone Kept It Together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disregard the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> After losing my entire initial draft, I have *finally* reconstructed this thing. This is a direct followup to When It All Comes Crashing Down, and explores some characters' perspectives that wouldn't really fit cleanly into the main story.
> 
> Warnings: Steve uses the politically incorrect term for Romani people, because he's doing his best, but there's bound to be stuff he just doesn't know about yet in terms of appropriate versus inappropriate terminology. Also, while I didn't think the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag was called for, there is a brief description of a second degree burn (or a third degree burn that's spent some time with a healing factor, but that's neither here nor there) in Steve's section, so be forewarned if you're apt to find that squicky.

Steve stood in front of a vending machine in the hospital in North Dakota, lost in his thoughts.

Sam, bless him, had gotten back about twenty minutes before with a change of clothes for Steve, allowing him to finally get out of his bloodstained uniform (which apparently had to be incinerated now, because apparently the doctor's blood was toxic). Being back in civilian clothes made him feel less like a spectacle and more like a real person, and he had finally felt comfortable enough to emerge from the privacy of Dr. Banner's room.

Now, though, he was beginning to realize that maybe feeling like a normal guy wasn't such a good thing. He had been able to take what he'd seen in that base in stride because he was in mission mode, focused on finding the doctor and getting out. Now that he was out of that mindset it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his mind from dwelling on what he'd witnessed there.

Steve could remember with stomach-churning clarity exactly how those burns had looked, inflamed and blistering. He remembered the doctor's gut-wrenching moan when Steve had picked him up, the way he could feel the vibrations in his own chest. He remembered how shallow and labored Dr. Banner's breathing had been as he struggled to take in air around the pain of those deep incisions.

The doc didn't deserve all that. No one did, but especially not him. Steve hadn't had the chance to get to know the doctor very well, but he knew he was a good man, a man who had devoted his life to helping others in whatever ways he could. Good God, he had given himself over to those bastards, knowing what they would do to him, in order to protect the people around him, bystanders and soldiers alike. Dr. Banner deserved a damn medal, not... not _this_.

This was not the first time Steve had witnessed the aftermath of human experimentation. He'd seen it quite a few times in the Hydra bases he'd fought through during the war. What they did to Allied POWs was bad enough; Steve was still haunted by the image of Bucky strapped to that table, staring at nothing and mumbling his service number over and over. The really nasty stuff, though, the cutting people open while they were still alive, still awake? That they'd saved for Jews and Gypsies and other people they didn't think qualified as such.

And the Army—his Army—had done that. To Bruce.

Without thinking, he found himself punching the vending machine with all his strength, leaving a long split in the plastic. He grabbed the side of the machine, throwing it into the middle of the hallway with a wordless shout of frustration and anger and grief.

He had been alone in the hallway, but his outburst drew the attention of at least a half dozen doctors and nurses, all staring at the unprovoked destruction in shock.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, trembling slightly from the sudden surge of adrenaline. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll pay for that," he murmured. Then he turned and fled for the nearest exit. He desperately needed some fresh air.

* * *

As Thaddeus Ross sat in his living room, his third glass of bourbon clutched in an iron grip, his thoughts turned once again to just how much he hated Bruce Banner. He hated that man—that _monster_ —more than anyone or anything he had ever met. It was almost alarming just how raw and burning the emotion was.

He had actually, in what he could only describe in hindsight as a fit of pure, sentimental _idiocy_ , started to feel a sense of pity for the beast, watching as his science teams tried to conduct their tests despite its frantic, panicked thrashings. He'd never doubted that the project was necessary, not when they'd watched goddamned aliens try to invade New York and London, and especially not since the revelation that the agency that was supposed to be keeping that kind of horseshit in check was being run by actual goddamn Nazis. Still, he'd been willing to concede that the thing was really just an animal—a dangerous one, to be sure, but too simple to really be held accountable for all the destruction it had caused.

Banner, though... Thaddeus had always known he was a sniveling coward, since the moment Betty had first brought him home during a break from school. What he hadn't understood before was just how devious the little bastard could be. It took him faking a suicide attempt in order to trick them into breaking security protocol for Thaddeus to wake up to that reality. Now the base was in ruins, Banner was gone, Stark was screeching to anyone who would listen about having Thaddeus arrested, and, worst of all, two of his men were dead, with another five fighting for their lives in critical condition.

When he got the news that one of the injured men had been declared a vegetable, Thaddeus snapped. He threw his glass into a wall, then the bottle, then started overturning furniture in a blind rage. Banner was a monster and he would never, _ever_ forgive him.

* * *

It wasn't until the day after Bruce left for Malta that Tony noticed that JARVIS had disabled several of his emotional processes.

When General Ross and his men invaded the Tower, JARVIS had looked on with a steadily growing sense of alarm. They had been disturbingly well-prepared, cutting through JARVIS' defenses with ease. They bypassed every security door he closed in their path, blowing some open with shaped charges, exploiting the safety features of others by cutting power or setting off the smoke detectors. The whole time, JARVIS could not help but think back to that night when Obadiah had forced his way past JARVIS and nearly killed Tony.

The comparison, though unbidden, was not irrational per se. JARVIS' mind, like that of any human, was designed to form linkages between stored memories on both conceptual and experiential grounds, then automatically recall closely linked memories as a new situation fit itself into the established network. That dynamic association made him better equipped to respond to new experiences, both tactically and socially; it allowed him to use and build on his experiences, rather than filing them away without being changed by them. It allowed him to grow. Unfortunately, it could also be unpleasant from time to time, allowing for the sudden intrusion of memories that, though valuable, were by no means enjoyable.

Looking on as a hostile force once again rendered JARVIS helpless as they sought to harm one of the few people he trusted completely, JARVIS' emotional responses became more and more intense, taking up more and more of his processing power. When Bruce surrendered, they spun out of control completely. JARVIS could barely think, overcome by the surge of fear and guilt and anger and despair. He very quickly came to the conclusion that these feelings were not helpful, and responded by disabling several of his emotional subroutines entirely, leaving himself calm and composed once more.

It wasn't until some of the metaphorical smoke had cleared that Tony registered the fact that JARVIS was _too_ calm and reactivated the dormant processes. JARVIS could have done so at any time, of course, but he'd been wary, even afraid, of facing it all, especially now that he had seen and stored all of the Army's data from their experiments on Bruce. He knew he had to deal with it eventually, though, so he allowed Tony to take the first step for him. The flood of emotions, the sudden surge of pain, immediately overwhelmed him, and he well and truly broke down for the first time in his existence.

Tony, his beautiful, beloved creator, soothed and reassured him, even lowered his guard and let some of his own tumultuous emotions show in order to ensure that JARVIS knew he wasn't alone in his distress. He assured JARVIS that it wasn't his fault, that his domain was cyber security and that he could only do so much against a physical attack. JARVIS could mostly believe that, since he had somehow ended up with a healthier sense of self-worth than the man who made him, but he still requested that they install defensive weapons systems in the secure floors of the Tower and in the Malibu house. He explained that, entirely independent of what was expected of him, he _wanted_ this. He did not want to feel so helpless ever again. Tony just listened to what JARVIS had to say, never once expressing any sort of alarm over the fact that his AI was requesting the ability to disable and, if necessary, kill humans.

When JARVIS had finished explaining himself, a small, mischievous smile broke over Tony's features. "Yeah, we can do that."

* * *

When Dr. Banner was ready to come back to the US, Natasha declined a ride back on Stark's private jet. She had an errand to run, and she wanted to be discreet about it. Invisible as a ghost, she made her own way to DC, where a certain General was waiting to hear if he was about to lose that title.

It was a simple matter to steal a universal keycard from housekeeping and slip unseen into the unoccupied hotel suite adjacent to the one where the Army had stashed the man in question. From there, she jumped to the balcony outside his suite and let herself in through the window of the darkened bedroom. She found the General sitting in the living room with legal documents in one hand and a glass of whiskey clutched in the other.

Ross didn't even know she was there until she delicately pressed the barrel of her gun against the base of his neck. "General Ross."

Ross stiffened, but, to his credit, didn't panic. "Miss Romanoff. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I think you know."

After just a moment's delay, he said, "I guess I just thought you of all people would understand how dangerous the monster is. I know it nearly killed you when it ripped up SHIELD's flying fortress before New York."

"I understand better than you. I have to wonder about the kind of man who looks at something that dangerous and decides he wants to make more of it."

"I'm not an idiot, Romanoff. We wouldn't have gone into production until we had a means to control the things."

If Natasha were anyone else, her lip would've curled from the revulsion she felt, listening to this man talk about manufacturing living beings as though they were any other weapon. "There is no foolproof way to control a person, Ross. The Red Room tried every method there is, and yet here I am."

Ross barked a laugh at that, despite the gun still pressed against his spine. "Right, because the Soviets were always at the forefront of science and technology. And spare me the sob story, Romanoff, we're not talking about people. The Hulk is an animal at best."

"And Banner? Is he just some animal?"

Ross' voice was hard and cold when he replied, "No, Banner's worse. You can't really blame an animal for biting you, not when it doesn't know any better. Banner, though... Banner is a _thinking_ monster. He doesn't have the excuse of not knowing any better, and he doesn't deserve the mercy you'd show a rabid dog."

Natasha thought of the man who was so easily lured in not by seduction or bribery, but by a child's pleas and a story of someone needing his help. She thought of the man who could manipulate a situation in much the same way she would, yet was so self-effacing as to apologize as soon as he'd gotten what he needed. She thought of the man who quietly expected her to hate him for the actions of his other half, and was utterly shocked when she didn't. She thought of the man who fought tooth and nail against the monster inside of him, when she had long since been consumed by the one in her. She thought of that man strapped to a lab table to be cut apart without mercy and twisted into a weapon. To be unmade.

And then she found herself smashing the butt of her gun into Ross' temple.

For a fleeting moment, Natasha blinked down at the gun in her hand in surprise, because she hadn't meant to do that. Not that she regretted it in the slightest, but usually everything she did was deliberate and calculated. The momentary lapse in her control was a little alarming.

Then the moment passed, and Natasha was all dispassionate professionalism once again. She moved to stand in front of Ross, who clutched the gash on his temple and glared up at her, anger mostly disguising his not inconsiderable fear. "If you're gonna kill me, kill me," he growled. "I won't apologize for what I did. The bastard deserves a hell of a lot worse."

"I suggest you listen very carefully," Natasha said, expression perfectly impassive. "The only reason I am not going to put a bullet in your brain tonight is because Dr. Banner would find some way of blaming himself for it. If you _ever_ harm him or any of my other teammates again, I _will_ come for you, and there is nowhere on Earth where I won't find you."

With that, Natasha slipped away, as quickly and silently as though she had never been there at all.

* * *

Thor did not learn of Project Lyssa until long after the actual event. He was off world at the time, and none of his Midgardian shield brothers were eager to raise the subject in casual conversation. He first heard of it in the aftermath of a battle in which the good doctor had taken his berserker form. Afterwards, when the two were sitting in the back of the jet, a blanket draped around the doctor's shoulders, Thor noticed the perfectly straight scars on his chest. They were clearly not battle wounds, and Thor's first instinct was to be concerned for the man's health. He asked if the doctor was ill, that he had to undergo such medical intervention. Dr. Banner just smiled sadly and replied that his health was fine.

Later, back at the Tower, the Captain explained what had been done to their friend and comrade. Thor was furious, demanding to know where this General Ross was hiding. If Midgardian law had failed to bring the knave to justice, then Thor would mete it out himself. Captain Rogers tried to calm Thor, speaking of diplomatic ramifications and the importance of respecting the rule of law, but Thor would not hear him. Ultimately, it was Dr. Banner himself who calmed the god-prince. When he approached, requesting in that soft, diffident tone that Thor hear him, what could Thor do but aquiesce?

The doctor did not speak of responsibility and law as the Captain had. Instead, he pointed out that murdering a Midgardian would leave Thor a fugitive, effectively banishing himself from this realm. Seeing Ross punished was not worth never seeing one of his friends again, Banner argued. Thor could respect that, and so he relented, promising that he would not harm the doctor's torturer, however much he still felt it would be justified.

Instead, Thor went to his Lady Jane. He clung to her, told her of these things, and wept freely into her soft, dark hair (Asgardian men knew that to weep was not a sign of weakness, as Midgardians seemed to think, but of strength). Jane held him, soothed him, and Thor's helpless fury began to ease. Being with her reminded him of all the things he loved about this realm, its people so short lived yet so vibrant and full of life. He understood then that the doctor was right: vengeance in this instance would come at too high a price. Of course, that did not mean that Thor could do nothing to make things right.

Upon his return to the tower, he sought out Dr. Banner. He swore an oath to the man, so fragile and yet so deeply, unfathomably strong, that Thor would never again be absent in his friend's hour of need; he would have Heimdall keep watch to ensure it. Furthermore, he extended an invitation to the doctor, that should he ever need asylum, he would be welcome on Asgard. The doctor was quiet for a long moment before replying that he had no idea how to thank Thor adequately; Thor merely clapped him on the shoulder and assured him that thanks were not necessary. It was the truth: Thor would do anything in his power to protect his shield brothers and sisters, as he knew they would for him.

* * *

The evening her boys got back from Malta, Pepper took the Rolls-Royce and picked them up from the airport herself. They had people for that kind of thing, but she wanted to do it. She already missed Tony, even though it had only been a few days, and she had become acutely aware of the fact that she hadn't seen Bruce in person in months. After everything that had happened, she liked the idea of being the one to take them that last bit of the way home.

Both of them looked awful as they stepped off the plane. They shared dark circles under their eyes, a wan quality to their complexions, and a stiffness to their movements from some combination of wariness and exhaustion. The lines on Tony's face seemed deeper than usual, as they had since this whole affair started. Bruce, meanwhile, looked absolutely haunted, hunched over slightly in that nervous, defensive way she rarely saw from him anymore.

Pepper gave Tony a quick kiss, then pulled Bruce into an embrace. He stiffened, instinctively, for just a second before hugging her back. "Missed you," she murmured into his shoulder. She did her best to ignore that he felt noticeably thinner under his perpetually loose-fitting clothes.

"Missed you too," he mumbled back.

After another moment, Pepper pulled away. She composed herself by way of smoothing over the wrinkles in her blouse, then gestured towards the car. "Come on, let's go home."

Tony drove on the way back to the Tower, because that's A Thing with him, while Pepper rode with Bruce in the back. It might have looked odd to an outsider, the billionaire chauffeuring his girlfriend and some other guy, but none of them could be bothered to care. Pepper and Tony ended up discussing business matters for most of the drive, and Bruce seemed content to just sit and listen. He let Pepper take his hand fairly early on, and she held onto it until they were pulling into the Tower's private parking structure.

Tony had to head to his office to deal with 'stupid business crap' (his words), but Pepper managed to tempt Bruce into joining her in the penthouse with promises of good company and his favorite tea. He settled himself on the sofa while she went about brewing it. When the tea was ready, she brought it over, then took a seat next to him, hands wrapped around her own mug of decaf.

"I'm glad you decided to come back," she commented. "Tony and I were afraid you might not."

He shrugged, looking almost ashamed. "I shouldn't have, it's kind of a reckless move," he replied.

Pepper frowned a little, despite herself. "But?"

Bruce sighed heavily, wearily. "But I don't think I could handle going on the run again. I..." His gaze became distant, staring blankly at a spot on the floor near Pepper's foot as he elaborated, "I'm so tired, Pepper. I'm tired of running and I'm tired of being hunted and I'm _so damn tired_ of being afraid all the time." His voice broke on the word 'afraid,' the rest of the words choked out with difficulty.

She wasn't sure what she could say to that, if the right words even existed, so she decided to say nothing. Instead, she set down her cup, lifted his out of his hands and set it aside as well, then wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. And he must have been so much more tired than she knew, because he let himself fall apart in her arms, crying into her shoulder with years' worth of fear and pain. Sitting there, holding one of the kindest men she'd ever met as he sobbed uncontrollably, Pepper felt a twinge of pure, unadulterated hate. She hated the people who had done this to him, who had hunted him like an animal and chained him like an animal and tried to beat him down like something less than an animal. She hated the world that had made him believe that basic human connections were a luxury and a liability, rather than the necessity she knew them to be. She absolutely _despised_ the _monsters_ who had dragged him from his home so that they could dissect him like a lab rat.

Pepper pushed all of that down like the consummate professional she was, wielding her own control so expertly that her breath didn't even catch. For the moment, that hate was not productive. Bruce needed her at the moment, needed her calm and her compassion, so she silently filed the hate away. It would be there for her to draw upon later, the next time someone threatened part of her family. After all, Pepper's wrath was something she could wield expertly, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> My depiction of JARVIS' thought patterns and memory storage is heavily influenced by icarus_chained's absolutely *brilliant* [Richard of York](http://archiveofourown.org/works/404965), which everyone with even a passing interest in sapient!JARVIS should read (along with pretty much all of icarus_chained's stuff, because it's all amazing).


End file.
